


Wandered Too Long

by orphan_account



Series: Draco Malfoy's Travel Diary [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Diary/Journal, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, France (Country), Good Draco Malfoy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, Pining, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:41:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has been trying to convince Draco to quit his adventuring and go back home with him to England. However, Draco is unsure he wants all the attention he'll garner from the press for returning out of the blue to be with the Savior of the Wizarding World. He doesn't even think he wants to go home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wandered Too Long

**January 18**

I still ache from sitting on the train for six hours. I don't know why Harry loves Muggle transportation so much. It's only so fun for so long, and then it just bloody aches.

He meant what he said back in Norway. He keeps dangling the promise of my wand like a bloody carrot on a stick. ~~Doesn't he understand that I want to go home with him for him, and not just the wand?~~

I'm not sure if I'm going, though. I've just arrived in France a few days ago after saying goodbye to the git. He had his three weeks of time with me, and now he has to go back to the 'real world' and his other 'loved ones' and the 'crushing responsibility' of being the Savior.

I know he stayed with me in Norway longer than he should have, and I know it's not fair to ask so much of him, but I wish he would just stay with me. We could be feeding each other fresh bread and griping over fancy wine here in France, but he  _had_ to go home.

I know he's a homebody; he doesn't even deny it. And the problem is, I'm _not_ a homebody. As awful as travel can be at times, I've grown to adore sleeping on bumpy trains and living off of shady street food. I love waking up in a new place every few days, I love seeing new things, I love the entire experience of adventuring.

I've grown to love discomfort, the unknown, the beauty of the anonymity of a traveler.

I'm not sure if I'm ready to go back to England, where everyone will be waiting for the old Draco Malfoy, the one who is condescending and stupid and an over all cunt.

That's not me anymore. I don't want to go back to living that way, as soft as fancy beds may be and as lovely having my own house would be. I love my life on the road.

But I also love Harry, and he wants me to go back.

Maybe I'll go back for a week or two. And then I'll drag Harry off with me to Greece or somewhere. He would like Greece, I bet.

**January 20**

Paris is odd. French wizards are odd. 

Frankly, I don't know how I didn't notice before. I suppose it's different here in the city, looking at it with older eyes and without my mother and father dragging me along.

As a child, we always were in the French countryside. The wizards there are much more normal, and they're a lot less intrusive.

They also don't spend all their bloody time in the catacombs.

How did I not realize before that, no, France doens't have it's own Diagon Alley--or anything of the sort? No, they have all their shops and houses down in the bloody catacombs.

I had to pay tribute to a statue to get down into the entrance. I was expecting it to be all cobwebs and corpses like the muggle tours show, but it seems that the wizards have done a much better job cleaning the place up.

Granted, it was still underground, and it was still terribly damp. But it was rather lively, if not charming. Certainly it was enjoyable to be around so many other francophones at once. It's a rare treat to be in a foreign country where I understand the language without translation spells (which aren't entirely infallible, as I learned recently--but that's another story).

Part of me was hoping that I might run into someone that I knew from my childhood visits to the country with my parents, but that was stupid. There were so many people there, and it's been so long I doubt I would have recognized anyone.

Besides, I was too busy pining over Harry. He sent me another owl, talking about how much he missed me already and being an overall sap. At least he's pining for me as well, I suppose.

That was the only reason I went to the catacombs, to be honest. I've started to stray away from the wizarding areas. I'm beginning to enjoy the company of muggles, to be honest. They're so simple. 

And they like my Dark Mark. They think it's a tattoo, and not some horrible mark of my past. Is it wrong for me to enjoy that?

Anyway, I digress. I had to go to the wizarding quarters to find a post owl to write Harry, and (I know, bad idea) I wanted to find a copy of  _The Daily Prophet_ somewhere.

You'd think they'd want to keep up with British wizarding affairs, but there were more muggle newspapers than anything down there, and it took me hours to finally find a bookstore with a copy of the paper I wanted. It was in French, mother of all surprises, but it wasn't an issue.

Though I think my reading is a little rusty, because there were some pretty far out articles.

Or maybe I've just been away so long that all of Wizarding Britain has fallen into such decay that Celestina Warbeck really was awarded with a Second Class Order of Merlin, and that the Weasley's have struck it rich in the prank business.

That's not exactly a world I want to return to.

**January 23**

Harry wrote me  _again._ Salazar, aren't I lucky.

He tried to bribe me with sweet talk into going back home. Ha, like that's going to work.

~~Though I was almost convinced when he told me he preferred my company to the entire Weasley family. And that he would ditch his meeting with the Minister of Magic if only I would come see him.~~

I'd bet my knuts and my sickles that he's just lying to get me to visit. He knows that words get to my heart, and he's taking advantage of me.

But dammit, I won't give in.

But should I? I mean... He spent Christmas and New Years with me. Not any of his friends back home.

Fucking Merlin. No. I can't go back. If I went back, it would be my face on some French version of  _The Prophet_ being sold in shady, green-lit bookstores in the catacombs.

And all over the English  _Prophet_ in Diagon Alley. And then my parents would know that I'm back, and I would have to see everyone again, and I would have to explain that I've changed...

And I would have to explain Harry. Does he even want that? Does he realize how insane it would be? We'd never hear the end of it.

Maybe I should go back, only for a week, and go secretly. And just visit Harry. No one else.

**January 27**

Potter is a picky little shit.

I sent him another owl detailing the terms of my visit to England. I would go for one week, I would only go out into public under Polyjuice, and we wouldn't tell anyone.

But,  _nooooo._ Harry Scarhead Potter is insisting that he wants me to come meet the family, that we make things official, that we both come out to the entire wizarding world....

I'm not ready, I'm not ready, I'm not ready...

But shit, I want to be ready, because I'm an emotional idiot and I want this just as much as Harry. I'm an idiot and I just bought myself a Portkey to Diagon Alley and I'm clutching the copy of Harry's address in my hand and I'm enjoying my last French baguette before going home.

What am I thinking? Why am I giving in?

Why did I have to fall in love with the fucking Savior?

**January 28**

I wish I had bailed. I wish I hadn't agreed to do this.

Gods, why couldn't I have just told Harry that I couldn't visit him because maybe we are just casually fucking and maybe we don't have to tell everyone? Why couldn't I have said I was done with the sappy love letters?

Because that would be lying, and I'm stupid, and I went with my emotions and I'm not even acting like a Malfoy. 

Oh, shit. Malfoy. What if I run into my mother? Or my father? Is he in Azkaban or is he at the Manor or did they run off? I'm realizing I hardly know anything anymore. I ran away so fast.

And now I'm running back, just as unprepared. Oh, so fucking unprepared.

I forgot to roll down my sleeves before taking the Portkey, because I haven't had to hide my Mark in months, and it was so _stupid_ of me. I think someone must have noticed, but I had a panic attack and rolled down my sleeves and hurried into the nearest place, which happened to be Knockturn Alley.

If anyone caught me there, and I don't know if anyone noticed, it would be the end of me. I'm hardly home for ten minutes and I'm already back in the Dark sector.

But I got out of there fast, and ended up playing the coward and finding a hotel in Muggle London to stay in. I can't go near the wizards yet, not today, not tomorrow.

I'll have to tell Harry that I can't meet him for dinner. We'll have to go somewhere else.

**January 29**

Harry showed up at the muggle hotel. I don't know how he found me, but he said he just "knew."

I thought he was going to be upset with me for abandoning him, but he wasn't mad at all. He said he was sorry things were going so badly, and then he offered to order muggle takeout. He said the restaurant was Indian, but it tasted nothing like what we had in India.

Which was a shame. I could have used the nostalgia. 

Back in India, things felt so much more simple. It was easier to just relax and enjoy being with Harry and seeing his face and feeling his kisses. Now that I'm in England, my thoughts are filled with bad memories and shame. 

How am I going to show my face back in the wizarding world? What will I say to Mother? Will she even love me anymore? I've changed so much, and I'm with Harry now, and I'm just not who I was always supposed to be.

Harry stayed for a few hours, but slipped away while I was showering. He said he needed to be back at the Burrow or they'd get worried. 

What if I'm worried?

**February 1**

Potter is insane.

I didn't see him for three days. I spent most of it moping and trying to come up with words to say to Mother. I was in a muggle park when Harry pops out of nowhere and _grabs_ me by the arm. I nearly hexed him. 

Then, we were apparating to this Burrow of his, and we were surrounded by gingers.

Of course he had to take me to the Weasley's. 

I'm out in the garden now. It's full of gnomes and weeds. Harry thinks that's funny, and said that some things necer change. Apparently this house nearly burned down during the War.

They did a shit job rebuilding it, if you ask me. It still wobbles and some parts seem missing, but they fill in the cracks with all their bloody friendliness. I'd have thought they would hate me, but right off the bat the Weasley matriarch wraps me in a collosal bear hug and thanks me.

The Weasel--Ronald, that is--kept on glaring at me. Halfway through dinner, he pulled me into a side room and held a wand up to my throat. He wanted to know what I'd done to Harry.

Being an Auror, and apparently not as idiotic as I had thought, he realized that I was innocent. 

But that took Harry cornering me in a drunken haze and demanding a snog. In front of the entire colony of Weasels.

It was completely embarrasing, but they seemed to think it was hilarious. Even the she-Weasel was amused. Apparently she's not upset about Harry and I; she's taken a liking to witches over wizards, as one of the stodgy older brothers claimed. Can't quite remember his name.

It's all a bit overwhelming, really. Even Granger is being friendly to me, when she's not cozied up with Weasel. I've mostly been left alone, and that's alright. I get to watch the family together.

Harry is so happy here. It makes me realize that I can't keep him away from this. As much as I want to travel, Harry has a home here, with these people. I can't drag him with me on my nomadic quests for happiness, can I?

Sometimes I think Harry is my happiness--I'm sure I've said it before; he's turned me into enough of a sap that I would have. But if Harry's happiness is here, in England, I'm not sure if I can take that. As lovely as the Weasley's are, I'll be a dead man the moment the press catches a whiff of me. 

Maybe I'll apparate back to the hotel. No one will notice. 

**February 3**

Of course, Harry noticed. 

He banged into my room at three in the morning and just about collapsed when he saw me. He was certain that I had run off for good.

He clearly doesn't trust me. Maybe for good reason. It's obvious I can't be trusted not to run off. I'm like a cat, with how jumpy I am. The slightest scare sends me off running.

We had a row about it. I told him he should go and leave me be, some other rubbish. I was delirious. He shouted about being worried and wanting me and wanting the world to see me and that had done it.

I told him I don't want to be his show-and-tell item. He got flustered and apparated away.

I regret chasing him off. I regret saying a lot of those things.

But I still believe it.

I'm taking the train out of London tomorrow morning. It's best that I don't drag Harry's heart around like this.

**February 7**

Oh, gods. I'm an idiot. I've been such an idiot.

Why did I think those things? What's bloody _wrong_ with me? Why did I go to the train station?

I got caught by a reporter on the way. Apparently I haven't been as stealthy as I thought, or a Weasley ratted me out. 

Anyway, half of Wizarding Britain knows I'm home. Nothing terrible happened. Mother owled me. 

Harry found me before I could go, actually. He chased off the reporter, told him where he could stick his quill. Among other things. He had to defend my honor, of course. Reminded them that I'm innocent, and that he testified at my trial.

And because he's Potter, because he doesn't think, he went on some mindless rant about how wonderful he thinks I am. How he _loves_ me. He _said_ that. To a _reporter_. It's all over the Prophet now.

So, now half of Wizarding Britain knows Harry Potter loves me.

If I didn't love Harry before, I think I might have fallen for him that moment. He dragged me off to the nearest coffee shop and demanded we have a talk.

It looks like I'm staying in London a bit longer. Visit my mother. Let Harry show me off a bit. Get hounded by reporters. 

Quite frankly, I've no idea what I'm doing. But Harry knows, and he's probably my happiness. 

Actually, Harry _is_ my happiness.

Even if I'm still having panic attacks, he makes them go away faster than you could fathom. And he makes me feel better.

So, we'll see how this goes. I'm absolutely positive I'll get sick of it in a few weeks, but I always have liked attention. Maybe if Harry can make sure it's good attention, I can handle it.

Still. I have plans to travel more. I'm not being Harry's kept boy, as much as I love him. 

It's a good thing that my happiness is a mobile thing, otherwise I'd be stuck in one place forever. 

Ha. Harry was reading over my shoulder. He said he felt the same way.

I'm Harry's happiness.

Which of course gives me the liberty to drag him wherever I want, should I choose to. 

Thank Merlin we won't be stuck here long.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work but I needed to get it out of my system. This is probably the last in the series. It's also unedited, so feel free to point out mistakes.


End file.
